In The Beginning
by lucytiger
Summary: After Mary's death John grows abusive and violent towards his sons and Dean takes the brunt of it to protect his brother. Going to be an ongoing story, pre-series and going through the seasons. HurtDean AbusiveJohn. Tell me what you think - review!
1. In The Beginning

[A.N. Hey so I did a few fics a while back but I'm such a sucker for hurtDean and abusiveJohn so I thought I'd revamp/restart one of those...hoping to take the theme through the seasons (haha maybes not all 7 tho, we'll see!) Enjoy!]

Disclaimer: Wish I did, but I don't.

In The Beginning

The first time John Winchester hit his eldest son, Dean was five. It was the first anniversary of Mary's death. They were holed up in an out-of-the-way motel on the outskirts of Dayton, Ohio. John had just come home from a simple salt and burn, stopping at the liquor store on his way back. Dean had already put Sam to bed in the rickety cot set up in the room and had fallen asleep on one of the musty beds, late night TV flickering soundlessly in the corner.

The door banged open and Dean jumped, immediately awake. His first thought was his brother, but somehow little Sammy had managed to sleep through that one, thank God. His second thought was his father. John looked a little worse for wear, nothing out of the ordinary post-hunt, but in his hand was a half empty bottle of whiskey, and running down his face were tears.

"Dad?" Dean asked, trying to comprehend. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," his father replied gruffly. He sat down on the other bed opposite Dean and took a swig from the bottle. That worried Dean.

"What is it?" he asked quietly. "Did the hunt go alright?"

"The hunt was fine, now quit askin' questions," John snapped. He took another gulp from the bottle and wiped tears from his face.

"Then why are you crying?"

That was all it took. In one movement, John backhanded Dean sending the kid sprawling onto the bed with a gasp. Immediately John was at his side.

"God, Dean I'm so sorry," he muttered over and over again. Dean stayed silent not knowing what to do. "I'm so sorry, it'll never happen again. Goddamn whiskey."

John stood up, grabbed the bottle and walked over to the small waste paper basket near the front door of the room. He took one last swallow from the bottle and then dropped it in the bin. He looked back over to Dean. His son was sitting on the bed, back against the headboard watching his father, his expression unreadable.

"It's going to be okay, Dean, I promise. Soon, it'll be fine, I know so much more about what killed your mother now," John said, his words slurring slightly. "We're gonna get that son of a bitch. I promise."

Dean nodded and pulled the covers around him. His face was aching and he'd have a bruise over his cheekbone the next day which John would explain away with a typical 'fell down the stairs' excuse if anyone asked. But at least their dad was onto something. Maybe they could stop moving around soon. Maybe it would all be over.

* * *

The second time John laid a hand on Dean was five years later. Once again, six year old Sam was fast asleep in the bedroom he was sharing with Dean. It was November, it was freezing and they were staying in a log cabin in woods in west Colorado. After that night five years ago, Dean had made a silent promise to himself. He would never try and rile up his father and would do anything John told him to do without question. If that meant his father wouldn't hit him or, god forbid, hit Sammy, then Dean was doing a good job. The only problem was, sometimes Dean never knew what it was that set his father off.

He'd realized later on that when John had hit him that first time, it'd been the one year anniversary of Mary's death. Since then, every time November 2nd came around, he would walk on eggshells around his father. And tonight was the sixth anniversary.

Despite his young age, his father had inadvertently started to inform him on how he was going with the hunt for the demon that had killed Mary. At first it had been slow going and frustratingly hard to get any information on anything. Dean had chalked up John's violence towards him five years ago to that.

But unfortunately it was still hard going for the Winchesters. John was no closer to finding the demon or even knowing the name of the demon and money was always an issue. Anytime they stayed near a family-friendly bar, John would spend hours teaching Dean to play pool. And how to hustle other people out of their hard-earned cash on a Friday night.

But right now they'd hit a definite low point. Instead of staying in a motel, they were holed up in an abandoned cabin in the woods while John hunted a wendigo with another hunter. The cabin was icy at best but luckily it had three fireplaces. One in each of the two bedrooms and one in the small living room. Dean and Sam had trawled the area close to the cabin for hours collecting enough sticks and logs to keep them warm through the night.

Dean had made sure Sam was warm enough in the bedroom and that the fire was raging. But the fire in the living room was almost out. Dean sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He was wearing almost all of the clothes he owned, had been sitting two feet away from the fireplace and he was still cold. He picked up the shotgun his father had left him, checked that it was loaded and carefully unlocked the front door. He peeked out into black nothingness and listened. All quiet. He quickly ran to the pile of wood and grabbed as many logs and sticks that he could fit in his arms and ran back inside. He dumped them next to the fire and turned around to close and lock the front door and froze.

The doorway was dark with the outline of a figure. He scrambled for the shotgun and aimed. "Who's there?" he called, his voice shaking with the cold.

"Put the gun down Dean," came his father's brusque voice.

Dean hesitantly leaned the shotgun up against the wall and watched as his father shook the snow off his boots and closed the door.

"Why was the door open Dean?" John asked, his tone neutral. He dropped his duffel bag full of weapons on the table.

"Did you get the wendigo?" Dean asked, curious.

"Of course I did. Me and Bobby tracked it back to a cave and torched it good," John replied, then he turned to his son with a stern look on his face. "Now tell me, why was the door open?"

"I just went out to get some wood, the fire was dying, it's freezing in here," Dean explained, hoping that it would be good enough.

"You know what's outside Dean. A wendigo. And it'd just love to drag you and your brother back to its lair so it could eat you alive," John said menacingly, his voice low. He grabbed Dean's arm, tight enough to bruise. "And you opened the door, because you were _cold_?"

"Dad, I'm sorry, I took the shotgun, I made sure nothing was out there," Dean stammered. "And…and you killed the wendigo anyway"-

That was the wrong thing to say. As soon as Dean said it he knew. John's hand tightened on his arm and his other hand struck his face. Immediately Dean went silent. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say.

Finally he whispered, "Dad I'm sorry."

"Stop sayin' sorry for god's sake and _think _next time," John growled under his breath. "Do you want to be cold and alive? Or dead?" Dean nodded and John shoved him away. "Go to bed, we're leaving in the morning."

"Yes sir," Dean replied and stumbled into the room he was sharing with Sam, rubbing his arm. He shivered as he got under the covers of the unoccupied bed. What he really wanted to do was hop in with Sam so their body heat would keep both of them warm as toast, but he didn't want his brother waking up. The sheets and duvet were ice cold and his teeth started chattering. He was worried he'd be sick in the morning. His dad wouldn't like that. But what he was more worried about was the fact that Dad had lashed out again. Which meant that time, five years ago on the anniversary of his mom's death, wasn't just a one-off.

* * *

The third time it happened was when Dean was fourteen. He'd almost forgotten the previous times his dad had hit him by that time. They were staying in La Grande, Oregon, in a run-down motel waiting for their father to get back from a solo poltergeist hunt. There'd been a couple gigs in the area, the poltergeist John was getting rid of tonight and two spirits as well as demonic omens.

Dean had helped John with the two spirits but this morning he'd woken up with a killer headache and with his joints on fire so he'd been left at home. Of course this meant that he still had to take care of ten year old Sam.

"What are we having for dinner?" Sam's voice seemed to pierce the very air and Dean winced. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy I heard you," Dean whispered. He cracked his eyes open and sat up, leaning back against the headboard of the motel bed. He slowly stood up and dragged his feet over to the little kitchenette and dug his hand into the brown paper bag sitting next to the microwave.

"Mac and cheese?" he offered.

"Again?" Sam whined. "But I want something different. We had mac and cheese all week."

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it Sammy, that's all we've got," Dean snapped, a little too harshly. Sam's face fell and he immediately added, "I'm sorry kiddo, I'm just feeling real sick. I know it sucks but do you think you could have it again tonight?"

"Fine." Sam dragged the word out. He didn't want to bug his brother too much while he was sick, but he just would've really liked something different for dinner for once. Dean emptied the packet of mac and cheese into the small saucepan and turned on the camping stove. He followed the instructions to the letter. At least it would be reasonably good mac and cheese even if he didn't want it.

When it was done he spooned it into a bowl for Sam. He took a small bite himself then gave the bowl to his brother.

"You're not eating anything?" Sam asked.

Dean turned on the television softly and got back in bed. "Not hungry."

"You can have some if you want?"

"Nah, it's cool Sammy, don't think I could keep it down," he murmured.

"You want anything? Painkillers?" Sam asked.

"We're out," Dean replied, grimacing as a fresh headache took hold. "I'll be fine in a few days, don't worry."

"Okay," Sam replied but he kept an eye on his brother all the same. Sam finished his dinner and quietly washed up the bowl in the sink and left it to drain. The two beds in the room were queen-size so he hopped up next to Dean, trying not to make too many sudden movements, he didn't want to wake his brother. He was just about to drop off to sleep when he heard a key unlocking the door.

Sam looked up to see his father walk in and drop his duffel bag on the floor. The clang of guns, sawn-offs and knives woke Dean up with a start. "Sammy?" he croaked.

"It's alright," Sam said, "it's just Dad."

Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position just in time to see John take a mouthful from a bottle of beer. He suddenly felt sick in his stomach. "Dad? Everything okay?"

"Shut up Dean," John snarled, before draining the bottle.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse. He stood up and gingerly walked over to his father.

"What's wrong?" John repeated. "What's wrong is the fact that there's still a poltergeist out there killing people cause you couldn't get out of bed and help me tonight!" he shouted smashing the empty beer bottle at Dean's head. Sam jumped to his feet with a sharp inhale as Dean crumpled to the floor.

"Dad, please, I can help tomorrow night," Dean groaned. He touched his temple where the bottle had hit him. His fingers came away red. "I'm sorry"-

"You'll be sorry," John growled, anger had made him see red. He grabbed Dean by the collar and pulled him abruptly to his feet and slammed him into the wall. "Because you weren't there, someone died tonight, their blood is on your hands."

"Dad, please, I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," Dean pleaded. John buried his fist into Dean's stomach with a grunt. Dean gasped, winded from the punch.

"Like you couldn't help that?" John asked. Dean could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You're just lucky I'm only going after you now."

"Don't you dare touch Sam," Dean whispered. John tightened his hold on Dean's collar.

"What did you say to me boy?"

"Do whatever you want to me, but don't you lay a hand on Sam," Dean replied, his voice low and deadly.

"Well you got yourself a deal boy," John growled in return. He let go of Dean's shirt and it was all Dean could do to not buckle at the knees. "Go clean yourself up, you look terrible."

Dean walked away from his father and into the motel bathroom. He switched on the light and jumped when he saw his brother in the mirror standing behind him. "You okay?" Sam whispered.

Dean grabbed a towel, ran it under the tap and carefully mopped away the blood from his temple, where John had hit him with the bottle. After taking a close look in the mirror he decided he wouldn't need stitches. "Yeah I'll be fine," he finally replied. "Go back to bed, I'll be there soon alright?"

"No, I'll wait for you," Sam said. Dean sighed. Blurry memories came flooding back to him. This was the third time his father had hit him. The first two times had been on the anniversary of his mother's death but this time it was May, nowhere near November 2nd. A pattern was forming. That's what scared Dean the most.

[Hope you guys like it! Update coming real soon! Review!]


	2. Flagstaff

[Thanks for the awesome reviews! Most definitely intend to keep going!]

Flagstaff

Dean was 19 when Sam ran away in Flagstaff. Over the last five years, John had become increasingly violent and erratic. But as long as he didn't hit Sam, Dean just put up and shut up. It was a side effect of being Sam's brother. This week he was actually doing okay, relatively speaking. John hadn't laid into his for a while which he considered a stroke of luck. His ribs were a little sore from a few weeks ago and he had a healing cut and a fading bruise on his jaw but apart from that, he was fine.

"Dean," John called. Dean was immediately at his father's side. "There's omens two towns over. I'll be back in a week latest. If I'm not home by then, call me. But don't call until a week. Understand?"

"Yes sir." John handed him some cash, enough to keep the rented apartment for the rest of the week and for food.

"Keep an eye on your brother, I don't want any trouble when I get back," John said sternly.

"Yes sir."

John grabbed a duffel bag he'd packed earlier and opened the front door. "I'm gonna take the truck, you've got the Impala if anything happens."

"Yes sir." And with that, John left. Dean sighed, relief flooding his body. Even though it was only a week without his father around, it was still a week. He heard movement and saw Sam stumbling out from the bedroom.

"What's going on?" he asked sleepily.

"Dad's gone for the week," Dean replied, a smile on his face. Sam smiled in return, relishing his brother's smile. It only happened rarely, almost always when their dad had taken off for a while. "We got the place to ourselves. Pizza for dinner?"

"And for breakfast?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Sam was on school holidays at the moment so the two of them just hung out the way brothers should. They rented videos and stayed up late eating junk food. Everything was fine. Until Wednesday.

Dean woke up on the couch and stretched his arms above his head. "Hey Sammy, you leave any pizza for breakfast?" No answer. "Hey Sammy, rise and shine, we got a whole lot of nothing to do all day." Still no answer. That's when Dean got worried. He immediately checked the bedroom. Sam's bed was empty. Hell, it was still made up from the previous morning. "Crap," Dean muttered under his breath.

Moving quickly he looked through Sam's things. Most of his clothes were still there, but his favourite jacket, hoodie, jeans and a few t-shirts were gone. So was his toothbrush. Dean grabbed his cell phone off the kitchen table and speed-dialled Sam's phone number. Straight to voicemail. "Sam you better be on your way back here right now, you know Dad's gonna freak if he comes home and finds you missing, call me. Now."

Dean took in his surroundings, trying desperately to find a clue as to the whereabouts of his brother. Nothing came up.

* * *

Friday. Dean heard the key turn in the lock and his stomach dropped. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles and he swore he'd grown worry lines on his forehead overnight. He'd barely slept Wednesday and Thursday nights, instead checking every motel nearby with a picture of Sam. He turned around to see the door opening and his father walking in the room.

"D..Dad," he stammered as he pushed himself up off the couch. His head spun slightly. He'd hardly eaten anything these last two days.

"Hey Dean." John looked around the small apartment. "Where's your brother?"

"He's…he's gone," Dean stammered.

"What do you mean he's gone?" John's voice went from reasonable to deadly in a split second. He grabbed Dean's throat and slammed his back against the wall. "What do you mean he's gone!"

"Dad, please," Dean choked out as John's hand tightened on his throat. "He just…packed his things and…left."

John abruptly released his son and Dean fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and massaging his aching neck. "You mean, he wasn't taken or kidnapped or anything, he left?"

"He just left," Dean replied, his voice hoarse. "In the middle of the night he just packed some of his things and took off. I…I tried to find him, these last two days, I went to every motel in town and some on the outskirts. I showed his photo to everyone who worked at the Greyhound station. None of them had seen him. I…I didn't know what to do." Dean had finally regained enough air back into his lungs to struggle to his feet. He studied his father, afraid of what he might do next.

John turned away from his son and ran a hand through his air, the movement so casual, Dean almost let out a sigh of relief. That all changed when John swept all of the papers and books off the kitchen table.

"Goddamnit Dean! How could you let your brother run away!" John turned back to Dean, looking venomous. "How could you?" he shouted, backhanding Dean, sending him back to the floor. "How could you let your _own brother _run away! What did you say to him?" John was livid now. He kicked Dean in the ribs, winding him. Kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying into the wall behind him. Kicked him again. Finally he stopped.

"I…I didn't…say anything," Dean said, in between gasps for breath. "Everything was…fine. He just left."

"Well then," John crouched down and grabbed Dean's jaw, forcing his son's head up. "I guess we'll just have to find him." He gave his son one last punch across the face and Dean was seeing stars. "Get up, pack your things."

Dean took a few deep breaths and managed a sitting position, his back up against the wall. He closed his eyes, taking more deep breaths. He knew standing up would hurt his ribs like hell. John suddenly grabbed his collar and pulled him to his feet. "I said, get up," he growled. He pushed Dean towards the bedrooms forcefully.

* * *

John and Dean finally caught up with Sam a week and a half later. He'd been living on cheap pizza and had taken in a golden retriever called Bones. John marched in and calmly told Sam to get his things and get in the Impala. Dean had stayed in the car, waiting, and barely looked up as Sam got in the passenger seat.

"Hey, Dean, I'm sorry," he said, quietly. Dean didn't get a chance to answer as John loomed in the driver's side.

"We're driving to Durango, Colorado, tonight," John said. "There's woman in white and demonic omens." Sam stifled a laugh – there were _always _demonic omens it seemed. "It's five and a half hours away so we should be there by sundown. Follow my taillights."

"Yes sir," Dean murmured, gently starting the Impala's engine. He watched John climb into the big black truck, he'd bought recently and the two cars turned onto the highway.

"Dean, I'm sorry"-

"Can it Sam."

"Dean"-

"I don't want to hear it okay?" Dean turned to his brother in exasperation. Sam caught sight of the bruises on his brother's face and neck.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked. "Did he do that?"

"Knock it off Sam, I'm not in the mood," Dean snapped, maybe a little too harshly. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Sammy, I'm just real tired at the moment. Haven't really gotten much sleep these past two weeks, you know."

"I'm sorry Dean, I just wanted to get away from him, from this whole thing," Sam said, waving his hands as if to indicate 'their life'.

"And you had to do it on my watch, didn't you," Dean said, anger clouding his words. He remembered the way his dad had laid into him all too vividly.

"Did Dad get mad at you?" Sam asked in a whisper.

"What do you think Sam? Of course he did," Dean replied, he was still angry at his brother, but exhaustion and relief was winning over anger. He sighed softly again, and tried to concentrate on the almost empty road and the big black truck ahead.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked again.

"No," Dean replied truthfully. "I'm bone-tired from looking everywhere for you, I'm pissed to hell at you for running away from me in the first place, and I'm…"

"What?"

"I'm hurting cause Dad beat me, alright?" Dean finished, emotionally spent.

"God, Dean, I'm sorry," Sam murmured. "I didn't think he'd"-

"Of course he would, Sam, he always does." Dean had to stop himself. He couldn't get angry at Sam for that. It was his choice to tell his father to never hit Sam, to take whatever anger John had out on himself. He couldn't blame Sam for that. And if he'd had the chance he would've done it all over again – it was his job to protect his baby brother.

"Is anything hurt real bad?" Sam asked trying to be helpful.

"My ribs are pretty sore but they're probably just bruised, I'll be fine," Dean assured his brother. He glanced over and saw Sam's eyes glassy with tears. "But please don't do that again, okay? For my sake?"

"Okay, Dean."

* * *

Five and a half hours later, the two dusty black cars pulled into a motel on the outskirts of Durango, Dean let the Impala's rumbling engine idle while his father booked a room. Dean buried a yawn into the back of his hand and looked at his watch. It read ten past nine. If Dean had been tired when they'd set off from Flagstaff, he was well and truly beat now. He watched the dim lights of the motel office wearily hoping John would come out.

Finally his father came out but he didn't look too happy. He stalked over to the Impala and rapped impatiently on the window even as Dean was rolling it down.

"They said we were only allowed one car per room so I had to get two rooms," he said gruffly.

"That's a stupid rule," Dean replied, too tired to care.

"At least they were dirt cheap. Do you want any food or did that last stop at the state line do you?"

"I'm fine, Sam you want any dinner?" Dean asked, prodding his drowsy brother.

"What? No, I'm good, thanks."

"Well here's your key," John said, practically throwing it in his son's face. Dean was just lucky he had quick reflexes otherwise he'd have no. 32's key in his eye. "See you in the morning."

Dean followed his father's truck to their two rooms and parked outside 32. "Good night," he called to his father but was answered by no. 31's door slamming shut. "Guess it's just you and me now, Sammy."

The two brothers entered no. 32 and closed the door softly. Sam shut the curtains as Dean dumped his duffel on the bed closest to the door. "You want the bathroom first?" Dean asked, as he sat down on the bed, laying back against the headboard and toeing off his boots.

"Nah, you should go first," Sam said, "since, Dad, you know…"

"Sam, just go and have a shower. I drove us all the way from Arizona, I'll be fine for another ten minutes," Dean sighed. He hated being so short with his brother, but it was as if his tired mind could only work on this level.

"Okay," Sam replied, dejected. He grabbed his bag and entered the bathroom. Three minutes later he emerged, the shortest shower in the history of mankind having took place. "Your turn," he said.

Dean pushed himself off the bed, wincing as streaks of red hot pain lanced through his ribs and midsection. He almost didn't want to take his shirt off for fear of what he might see. He grabbed his duffel and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He slowly and gently shrugged out of the plaid shirt he was wearing and extricated himself from the t-shirt and faced the mirror. Dark purple bruises covered his ribs on one side and his stomach was black and blue as well. He'd lost his appetite ever since his dad had beaten him and no wonder.

The warm water running over his shoulders soothed the sore muscles and aches but Dean didn't want to use too much of the hot water. If you could only have one carspace per room, they'd probably charge you double if you used too much water. He dried himself off and got dressed. He walked out to find Sam waiting for him.

"Let's see," his little brother said.

"See what?"

"What Dad did to you," Sam replied. "You said your ribs hurt, I can wrap them for you."

"It's fine Sam," Dean said, dropping his duffel bag next to the bed. Unfortunately that movement tugged on the intercostal muscles between his bruised ribs and he winced.

"Yeah right," Sam said. "Sit down, shirt off."

"Fine," breathed Dean, he was too tired to argue. Once again, he went through the agony of taking his t-shirt off but once he did, Sam let out a gasp.

"Jeez, how the hell _did _you drive us here?" Sam asked in shock as he saw the purple blooms over his brother's torso.

"Mind over matter?" Dean offered. "You want to check 'em? See if anything's broken?"

Sam nodded. He placed his fingers at the edges of the huge dark bruise on Dean's side and pressed gently. Dean grit his teeth as Sam's fingers moved closer and closer to the darkest shade on Dean's skin. Sam pressed a particularly painful spot and Dean flinched, holding in a gasp.

"Right there," he managed to say. "That's the worst. Check it…make sure it's not broken."

Dean's hands fisted in the motel bed's duvet as Sam gingerly checked to make sure the bones in question weren't broken. When he'd finally finished, Dean let out a shaky breath.

"It's not broken," Sam assured. "But it might be cracked. I'll wrap it for you." As an afterthought he added, "It'll hurt though. You want me to do it now or…"

"Now or never, Sammy," Dean replied, breathing shallow breaths so as not to jostle his injured ribs too much.

Finally twenty minutes later, Dean could relax. His ribs were wrapped to prevent any day-to-day activities making them worse and he was just lucky the bruises around his throat and on his face were almost faded. John's steel-toed boots really packed a punch compared to his fists, Dean thought grimly. He looked over to his brother and any anger or resentment melted away. At least Sam was back and probably wouldn't run away again for his older brother's sake.

But there was still the problem of their father. His outbursts were getting more frequent and more intense. Dean constantly worried about what would happen if he was knocked out and John was still angry and went for Sam. Dean shook his head slightly, no use worrying about it now with a whole wall separating John from his sons.

"Night Sammy."

"Night."

[Hope you guys like it! Review, tell me what you think, always open to criticism.]


	3. Weekend At Bobby's

[Hey guys hope you all still like it! If you've got suggestions or anything, review and let me know!]

**Weekend at Bobby's**

John banged his bloody knuckles on the wooden door for the fourth time shouting, "Bobby Singer! Goddamnit, where are you!"

"Are you sure he's even home?" Sam asked. He was sixteen and had endured a huge growth spurt these last few months and was the same height as his father already, taller than Dean. "What if he's not here?"

"Of course he's here, Sam, that's why _we're _here," John replied gruffly. "I called him before we left Bismarck."

"How long are we going to be staying with him anyways? School holidays finish in three weeks," Sam said. He shivered as another gust of biting winter wind crawled down his collar.

"Yeah I know," John replied. School was really becoming more and more of a hindrance. It had never been a problem with Dean, his eldest had hated school, was running out of the building before the last bell had even rung. John had to talk him into staying through the tenth grade but he'd dropped out soon after preferring to get a GED and be happy with that. "We'll go somewhere else soon, okay?"

John banged on the door again. He saw something out of the corner of his eye and grabbed Dean's collar before his son collapsed. He gave Dean a shake, trying to keep him on his feet. "You still there?"

"Yeah," Dean croaked out, putting a bloody hand on the wall to steady himself. The shake John had given him sent twinges of white hot pain through his left shoulder. He seemed to remember hitting a wall with it but the gash on his head was making every blurry.

Tires squealing made John turn around to see Bobby's old Chevelle speed into the salvage yard and pull up in a cloud of dust behind them. Bobby climbed out of the old 1971 muscle car and took in the three Winchesters in front of him.

"What the hell happened to you three?" he asked.

"Demons," John replied. "We're gonna need patching up, well Dean for sure, me and Sam are alright."

Bobby pulled his keys out and made for the door just as Dean dropped. Both Bobby and John rushed to catch him. John tried pulling him to his feet but he was out cold, blood dripping down his face.

"Christ, what the hell happened?" Bobby asked again.

"Just get us inside would you?"

Sam helped his father carry Dean into Bobby's house and they laid him gently on the couch in the library. Dean groaned as injuries were jostled and bumped. John crouched down by his face.

"Alright Dean, you gotta try and wake up now, okay?"

"My head…hurts so badly," Dean whispered. He opened his eyes a crack and the room spun in front of him. He bit his lip. "I'm…gonna be sick."

"Sam, get a bucket now."

Sam was back lightning fast with a bucket just in time. Dean emptied the contents of his stomach until he was dry heaving then laid back down on the couch coughing. A glass of water was pressed into his hand.

"Let's take a look at that head of yours," John said. He dragged a chair over to the couch and proceeded to examine the cut on Dean's forehead that still had blood oozing from it steadily. He gently cleaned it with a damp cloth causing Dean to wince and pull away. "Stay still," John ordered.

When he'd finally cleaned the blood away he sighed in relief. Dean wouldn't need stitches and the blood was already starting to clot. "Alright Dean you know what's coming," John warned grabbing the disinfectant. "It's gonna hurt."

John pressed the iodine-soaked cloth onto the cut making Dean hiss in pain. The iodine stung like hell and was unrelenting. After what seemed like forever, John took away the cloth and Dean let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Is it alright? That cut?" Sam asked worriedly.

"It's gonna be fine, won't even need stitches, just a bad hit," John replied. "Anything else hurt?"

Dean exhaled trying to breathe through the pain. He nodded.

"Well where?" John asked impatiently.

"Dad go easy on him," Sam said, surveying his wounded brother. "He's concussed as all get out don't forget."

"Yeah and you know why, Sam? Cause he put himself in the line of fire, that's why," John replied angrily. "It's his own damn fault he's hurt."

"How can you say that, Dad, he was protecting me, that demon was going after me!" Sam shouted, his temper rising. Bobby just stood there watching the entire thing unfold. He couldn't understand why John could be mad at one of his sons for protecting the other.

"And if Dean had just done what I told him, the demon would be exorcised and he wouldn't be lying here all banged up."

"He'd probably still be lying there all banged up," Sam retorted. As soon as the words came out of his mouth he knew he couldn't possibly have said anything worse. John started to stand up, his hands balling into fists and Sam took a step back.

"Sam…please…not now," Dean said, his voice scratchy. He put a bloodied hand on his midsection and, using his other arm for leverage, pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Dad's right…it's my…my fault. But please don't fight now."

Sam's face immediately softened when he saw his brother's green eyes, one surrounded by a growing bruise plead with him. Sam backed down at that. He pulled up another chair and sat by the couch.

"Pretty sure my left shoulder's….dislocated," Dean said, unhappily.

"Let's set it then." John said. Instead of putting Dean through extra agony by getting him to take off his leather jacket and his shirt John grabbed his son's left hand and placed his other hand on Dean's dislocated shoulder making Dean grimace. "Okay, on three." Dean nodded. "One," John said and promptly set Dean's shoulder making him cry out.

John immediately let go of his son's arm and Dean hugged it against his body breathing hard. Setting a dislocated shoulder was one of Dean's least favourite things. After a couple of minutes, the pain subsided from all-consuming torture to a dull ache that felt as if it would last a good couple of weeks.

"Anything else?" John asked.

"I think that's it," Dean said, his right hand gently massaging the tendons in his shoulder. "My ribs are pretty sore still but…" he trailed off. He was about to say that the pain in his ribs wasn't the demon's fault. He looked up and caught his father's eyes. It was almost as if John knew exactly what he'd been thinking.

"But what Dean?" he asked, his voice taking on a menacing tone.

"But…uh," Dean looked over at Sammy. The look on his brother's face was something Dean never wanted to see. He was _ashamed _of his brother. Ashamed of the fact that Dean couldn't say that it was John's fault that his ribs were almost always sore. That he couldn't say it in front of Bobby, the only person that could maybe change their situation for the better. "But they'll be fine," Dean finished.

"Good," John said sternly. "You got any beer Bobby?"

The question brought Bobby out of the trance he'd been in. He'd seen John interact with his sons before, but something seemed way off in this situation. "Yeah, yeah I got some. Come on in the kitchen then. You boys happy with pizza for dinner?"

"Sure Bobby," Sam replied, moving to sit down on the couch next to his brother.

"Whatever's easiest," Dean replied. Bobby nodded but inside, Dean's whole attitude was breaking his heart. At least if he got John into the kitchen, he could try and find out what was going on.

"How you doing?" Sam asked his brother.

"I'll be fine, Sam, really," Dean replied. He took a long swallow from the glass of water Sam had handed him earlier. The water took some of the edge off. He'd probably been dehydrated too.

"Yeah that's what you always say," Sam replied, some of that forgotten anger falling back into place. "You always say you _will _be fine. You never say that you _are _fine."

"Well, Sam, right now, what do you think?" Dean snapped. "My head hurts like hell, and my shoulder's gonna ache for days if not a couple weeks. I'm pretty goddamn sore right now."

"And your ribs?" Sam pressed.

"What about them?" Dean asked uneasily. He hated it when Sam got all hot under the collar about their father. It wasn't as if Dean would ever fight back. If he did, John would just go hell for leather and then move on to Sam. It hadn't happened yet, but if Sam kept going the way he was going, it was bound to happen soon.

"You were gonna say something," Sam said, hope springing to his eyes. "You were gonna say that Dad busted your ribs with his boot. Cause maybe, if you actually did"- he gave his brother a pointed glare –"then Bobby could say something to him, set him right."

"I'm not gonna go saying things to Bobby about Dad, Sam," Dean replied. Every time they'd swing by Sioux Falls, the same conversation would take place. Sam would want Dean to say something to Bobby about John beating on him and Dean would never say it. And he'd never for the life of him let Sam say anything either.

"Why the hell not?" Sam said, his voice getting louder.

"Sam, keep your goddamn voice down," Dean said in hushed tones. The last thing he wanted was for Bobby and John to walk in on this conversation. "I'm not gonna say anything to Bobby because it wouldn't achieve anything alright? I'll be fine, I'm always fine, but if I go saying things to people that I shouldn't, Dad might go for you, and I'm not letting that happen."

"Dean you don't know for sure that'd he do that," Sam countered.

"Pretty sure I do, I know the man well enough to know he'd beat me to hell for saying something to Bobby, and right now, I can't really take another," Dean said, his tone measured. It was as simple as that.

"Dean, how can you think like that?" Sam asked, astounded at his brother. "If we were to tell Bobby, he could protect us from Dad. Or at least protect you. I'm so tired of seeing you so hurt all the time, Dean."

"You really think I want this cycle to keep repeating?" Dean asked his brother rhetorically. "I said no, Sam. We're not saying a word to Bobby. And if you say anything to him, I'll beat you to hell myself." There was no power behind the threat though and Sam knew it.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself Dean?"

"Cause I've gotta protect you, Sammy, you're my brother. It's my job."

"Yeah but your job doesn't have to mean that you've almost permanently got bruised ribs," Sam said sadly.

"As long as it's my ribs that are bruised and not yours I'm happy," Dean replied, draining the glass of water. He started to massage his painful shoulder again.

"Why does Dad never go for me anyway?" Sam asked. Dean looked up at his brother, trying to judge his face but his brother's expression was unreadable.

"What?"

"Dad always beats you to hell but he's never hit me. Ever. Why?"

Dean sighed. Did he really have to go through all of this now? His head was throbbing, there was a residual sting of iodine in the cut on his hairline and the bruise around his eye was starting to make itself known with every facial movement.

"Why?" Sam pushed.

"Because I made him promise."

"Promise what?"

"Promise to never hit you, that's what," Dean replied. "Now please, can I just lie down for a while, I'm bone tired."

"Yeah sure Dean," Sam said, slightly shell-shocked. He picked up a nearby book on spirits and pulled Dean's legs onto his lap. His older brother gave him a puzzled look. "Just making sure you're comfy."

Dean shrugged and winced at the pull on his injured shoulder. He made himself comfortable as best he could on the lumpy couch. "Wake me when food's here."

"Sure thing."

* * *

Four hours later at 8pm, Sam gently shook Dean awake. Dean awoke with a gasp and an angry glare at his brother as he grabbed his injured shoulder. "Damnit Sammy, be gentle," he said, his words slurring somewhat from sleep.

"Crap, Dean, I'm so sorry," Sam said, his face shadowing with guilt. "I thought I _was _being gentle."

"Clearly not enough," Dean replied. He took a deep breath and some of the pain from his recently set shoulder started to ebb away. "Why'd you wake me up? I was having the best dream…"

"Pizza's here," Sam explained. "You want a hand up?"

"Dude, I'm not a complete invalid, I _can _stand up by myself," Dean said. He went to push himself to his feet using his uninjured right arm, but his ribs on that side were worse off than on the left side and he fell back against the couch with a pained groan. "Okay, fine, help me up." Sam went for his brother but Dean flinched back. "Be _gentle_," he warned. Sam helped his brother to his feet with only a couple half-suppressed gasps and the two of them walked slowly into the kitchen. Sam lowered Dean into one of the chairs Bobby had arranged around the kitchen table and he placed his left arm in his lap.

"How you feeling Dean?" Bobby asked as he opened up the pizza boxes. "Back from the dead?"

"Better than I was when I first walked in," Dean said. He paused. "At least I assume I walked in. Kinda can't remember. Did I?"

Bobby exchanged a look with John who was already seated opposite Dean. "More or less," Bobby answered. "Your daddy tells me you were after a demon in Bismarck."

"Yeah," Dean said trying to recall the exact events. "We'd tracked him to this abandoned farmhouse outside town and…that's where it goes black." He looked up with a wonky smile, trying his best to make light of the situation for Bobby and Sam's sake.

"I'd made sure we all had salt rounds, holy water, the usual," John explained. "But the demon was a damn son of a bitch. He knew we were coming. Threw me up against a wall and went for Sam. Dean was supposed to exorcise him but instead of that"- John glared at his eldest who looked down –"he decided to pick a fight with the damn thing. No wonder you're so sore now."

"Well aren't I glad my brother will fight a demon to save me then?" Sam said angrily.

"Sam," Dean admonished. The last thing he wanted right now was for John and Sam to start arguing. That had been happening more and more lately. It just wore him down.

"Come on Dean, don't you think it's a little ridiculous?" Sam asked. "Instead of watching a demon take out your little brother while you stand there reciting Latin, hoping it'll just stick around and listen, you come and help me. And Dad gets pissed at you for it."

"The demon wasn't going to hurt you Sam," John said. Dean, Sam and Bobby turned to John at those words.

"What do you mean, John?" Bobby asked. "How would you know?"

"Cause…I uh, I exorcised one a little over a month ago," John stammered. Dean and Sam were wide-eyed; they'd never seen their father at a loss for words. "It…it told me that it was…uh, how do I put it? It was after you, but not to kill you."

Silence reigned for a couple moments. Then all hell broke loose.

"What are you talking about?" Sam shouted. "What do you mean, it was after me? Why didn't you tell me? What were you"-

"Sam, enough," John said, in a tone of voice that meant business. Sam clammed up. "I haven't had a chance to tell you. That's why we're at Bobby's. I wanted to find out everything I could about why this demon was after you."

"Well don't leave me in the dark next time," Sam snapped.

"Why don't you boys finish your dinner in the library?" Bobby suggested, throwing a pointed look John's way.

"What? After that bomb that Dad just dropped?" Sam replied, incredulously. "I don't think so."

But Dean was already struggling to his feet and grabbing one of the pizza boxes. "Sam get up," he said wearily. He almost dropped the pizza box when a painful twinge went down his side and Sam snatched it before it hit the ground. "It'll be comfier on the couch anyway."

The two of them went back into the library and Bobby pulled the sliding doors shut behind them. He turned around to face John opening another bottle of beer. "You wanna tell me what's going on, John? With these demons?"

"I know its name," John replied.

"Whose name?"

"Azazel. The demon that killed Mary."

* * *

"Why do you have to be so weak Dean?" Sam said angrily.

"Excuse me?" Dean really didn't have the energy for another fight. He just wished Sam would just leave him be for once.

"You do exactly as they tell you all the time, it's painful to watch." Sam knew his words stung. He could see it the instant he said them. Dean's face fell and he started to study the floor.

"Shut up Sam," he replied softly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course I do," Sam replied. "You do everything Dad tells you and if you put one foot wrong he'll just beat you anyway. But do you tell Bobby? No."

"Sam, drop it, I'm too tired for this."

"Yeah you always are, cause Dad's forever hitting you goddamnit!"

"Lower your voice Sam, you don't know what you're saying," Dean said, his green eyes locked onto his brother's. "If I wasn't around, then Dad would be hitting you and do you really want that?"

Sam sighed. It was a battle he knew he'd never win. The relationship between his brother and his father was as screwed as it was ever going to get and no amount of talking about it was going to make it any better. "How's your head?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean snapped back.

"It's not supposed to mean anything. I'm just asking," Sam replied, in an apologetic voice.

"Sorry." Dean shook his head. He wished Sam wouldn't bring up these topics of his; it was too painful for him. Their lives were already hard enough, why make them harder? "I'm sorry Sammy, I didn't mean to jump down your throat. My head's doing better I guess. Think I'm gonna have a hell of a headache for a while though."

"Well you can take the couch tonight then. I get the feeling we're gonna be staying for a little while," Sam said. Dean nodded in appreciation. A puff of icy South Dakota winter chill went down Dean's spine and he shivered. Sam jumped up and grabbed a threadbare blanket off a pile of books and draped it over his older brother's shoulders.

"Thanks Sammy," Dean said, in a slight state of shock at the change in his brother over the last couple minutes.

"Don't mention it." Sam smiled at his brother, hoping Dean would believe the façade he was putting up. Sam wasn't going to let his father off the hook for everything he'd been keeping from him and for the sadistic promise he'd made Dean years ago to only hit his older brother. No, he'd wait until Dean got his strength back from this latest round with the demon in Bismarck. Then they could both stand up to John together.

[Review!]


	4. After School Special

**After School Special**

A month later they were in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. John had promised that they would stay there for a while. It was a relatively short drive to Bobby's place in Sioux Falls and to Pastor Jim in Blue Earth, Minnesota. The house they were renting was small and the brothers had to share a room but at least it was clean.

John was asleep in his bedroom upstairs and Dean was passed out on the couch when Sam came home from school. The night before he'd been helping John hunt a werewolf one town over and had gotten back in time to see Sam off to school in the morning.

The sound of the front door closing gently made its way to Dean's ears and he started to wake up. "That you, Sammy?" he asked.

"Yeah." Sam dumped his schoolbag on the kitchen table and sat on the end of the couch as Dean sat up, running a hand through his hair to try and wake himself up.

"How was school?"

"Really good, I got an A+ on my paper on the Civil War," Sam gushed happily.

"That's great geek-boy, just keep your voice down, Dad's still sleeping," Dean warned, but his tone was light. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I don't really mind," Sam replied. "As long as it's not mac and cheese." Sam had never gotten over that week years ago when they'd literally lived off of mac and cheese.

"Well we got burgers or fried chicken from the joint two doors down or…that's about it really, I'm too tired to venture further abroad," Dean said.

"Speaking of, how was the hunt last night?" Sam asked.

"Fine."

"That's all I get? Fine?" Sam laughed.

"Yeah, I mean, we got the damn thing, but it threw Dad across the parking lot regardless. He wasn't happy when he went upstairs, I doubt he's gonna be happy when he comes back downstairs," Dean said, his eyes downcast.

"He's never happy these days," Sam muttered under his breath.

"Can it Sam, he's got a lot on his plate," Dean replied, stretching the sore muscles in his shoulders.

"Exactly _what _does Dad have on his plate that is so hectic?"

"Finding the demon that killed Mom for a start," Dean replied, his tone getting harsh. "Putting food on the table for us, making sure you're in school, making sure we've got enough money for tomorrow, next week. Jeez it's not easy you know?"

"You know what Dean? I see you putting food on the table, I see you driving me to school and picking me up – at least when you're in town that is – I see you going out to bars every night to hustle pool so we have money," Sam said angrily. "That man does nothing except chase after ghosts and demonic omens and beat up his own son."

"That's enough, Sam"-

"No Dean, this is no way to live. Don't you ever think about the future?" Sam eyes drifted over to his schoolbag sitting on the kitchen table. Inside was the college application he'd already started filling out.

"Shut up Sam." Dean stood up.

"Where are you going?" Sam snapped.

"To get you dinner."

"Dean"-

"No, Sam, I don't want to hear it, just…do your homework or whatever it is that you do and I'll be back soon, alright?" Dean tried his hardest to keep his voice calm but he couldn't take this conversation topic right now. He grabbed the keys to the place and opened the front door. "Just be quiet. _Please_. I don't wanna come back to find Dad screaming at you."

"Okay, Dean," Sam dragged the words out. But at least he gave his brother a smile which Dean returned.

Dean closed the front door softly and started down the street. Cedar Rapids was a pretty quiet town by their standards. In fact, all of the hunts Dean and John had gone on had involved at least an hour's drive. Maybe that was why John had chosen the place to temporarily set up camp. The street they lived on was a ten minute drive and a half hour's walk to Sam's school and at the corner was a convenience store and a diner which the Winchesters frequented.

Dean walked in and got their usual order, two burgers, one with extra onions, pie and bottles of Coke. Dean had started drinking beer behind closed doors with John but whenever he was with Sam he tended to stick to soft drinks so he didn't make his brother feel like the odd one out.

It had actually been pretty cool, calm and collected between Dean and his father this past month. Dean was under the impression that his painful brush with the demon back in Bismarck was the cause. Dean was normally pretty careful on hunts; he had good reflexes, was quick on his feet and could generally outsmart the best supernatural sons of bitches that they came across. But that demon was a whole new level. He'd been so fast to throw him around the room, leading to that bloody gash on his head.

Normally John would've just let Sam patch Dean up after a bad hunt but he'd shown a whole different caring side to him that afternoon at Bobby's. After that, John had backed off big time. He hadn't hit Dean once in the past month and had even given him rare praise on a few of the hunts they'd been on. Cracking a couple of beers after a hunt gone well had even started to replace the backhanded slaps and taunts of "Why didn't you hit it sooner goddamnit?".

Dean was broken out of his reverie by the diner waitress handing him a plastic bag full of food. The scent wafted up to his nose and he smiled. Maybe things were turning around. He walked back to the house but his stomach dropped as he got closer. He could hear John shouting at his brother. He ran up to the door and unlocked it just as he heard his father say, "You think you can pull the wool over my eyes Sam? How dare you!" followed by the sound of a fist hitting skin.

Dean rushed inside to see his father holding a bunch of papers in one hand and Sam with a look of shock plastered on his face, his nose bloody. Dean closed the door quickly, it wouldn't do to have the neighbors hearing this, and dumped the food on the table.

"What's going on here?" he asked calmly.

John stalked over to him and shoved the papers in his hands.

"What's this?" Dean asked.

"Why don't you use your goddamn brain and figure it out Dean," John snarled at him before turning his deadly gaze back onto Sam.

Dean read the first couple of lines. And then re-read them. "College?" he asked, dumbfounded. "You're applying to college?" The amount of emotions in those words was overwhelming. Dean was astounded and in awe of his brother for actually having the smarts to be applying as well as trying to do it behind John's back. But his words were tinged with what could only be described as betrayal. If Sam wanted to go to college, it meant Sam wanted to leave them behind.

"I was only thinking about it," Sam protested, wiping the blood from his nose. "I haven't even filled it all out yet, see?"

Dean dropped the papers gently onto the kitchen table and looked at his brother. Really looked at him. His eyes were red from tears and redness was blooming over his cheekbone from the punch John had thrown at him when Dean walked in. Something in Dean suddenly snapped. The college application was forgotten. He turned on his father.

"You hit him?" Dean all but shouted. "How could you? After everything?"

"Shut up Dean, if you were in my position"-

"How can you say that? I help with everything! _Everything_ these days," Dean said, his temper rising. "How could you do that? After you promised me! After everything _I've _gone through?"

"What you've gone through? What are you talking about?" John scoffed. "You got hit by your father a few times when you made mistakes."

"A few times? Watch what you're saying Dad, cause you're not making much sense," Dean said. He knew he was getting on thin ice. But his father had _promised _to never hit Sam. He'd promised that six years ago. And all this time he'd kept that promise, beating Dean black and blue and bloody all too often.

"You better watch your mouth boy," John threatened, his voice low. "Unless you want a bloody nose to match your brother's."

"That's right," Dean replied. "Do what you always do. Hit me. Go on, I bet Mom would be real proud."

That was it. It was like Dean had uttered the magic words. John lunged at him and swung a powerful right hook sending Dean to the floor with a split lip. "How dare you.." John said menacingly. "How dare you even bring her into this."

Dean pushed himself up, first to his hands and knees and then to his feet. He wiped the trickle of blood off his chin and caught eyes with Sam. His brother was frozen to the spot as if he'd suddenly grown roots into the floor. Dean warned him with a look not to interfere.

"Apologise now and I'll go easy on you," John said, his hands still in fists by his side.

Dean sighed. "What would I be apologizing for? Going out to get dinner and breaking up your stupid fight with Sam with some home truths? You wouldn't go easy on me anyway."

"One more chance, boy."

"Forget it, _sir_," Dean replied twisting the last word around to make it an insult.

"Just remember you asked for it," John said before grabbing his shoulder and burying his fist into Dean's stomach.

Dean gasped, winded by the punch, but, before he could get a breath, John punched him again in the same spot. And again. Dean coughed and wheezed trying to catch his breath. What he really wanted to do was double over and hold his abused stomach muscles but John's hand on his shoulder kept him upright. Not for long though. Another punishing right hook hit his cheekbone and he collapsed in a heap. He tried to get up but was thrown into the wall behind him when John's steel-toed boot connected with his ribs.

Sam didn't know what it was that made him snap out of his trance. Maybe the agonised way Dean was gasping for breath or the thud that his body made when it hit the drywall but he grabbed John's shoulder and tugged him backwards.

"Stop Dad you're gonna kill him!" he shouted.

"Get off me Sam," John growled, backhanding his youngest. Dean heard the sound of John striking Sam and got to his hands and knees. Finally he stood up, one hand on his ribs, and pulled John away from his brother.

"Don't touch him," he said hoarsely.

"You want another round? Really?" John almost laughed. "Forget your stupid promise Dean, you're gonna have to earn it back."

"What?" Dean asked, shocked at his father.

"You heard me, _earn _it. You really think I'm gonna do anything you ask me? After the things you said tonight? About…about Mary?" Suddenly John's voice broke. He rubbed a hand over his face in despair. Thoughts of his late wife seemed to bring him back to reality somewhat. He staggered slightly and threw a hand out to the kitchen table to keep him on his feet. He caught sight of the college application sitting there that had started this whole fight. "I'm sorry Sam. It's just…the thought of you leaving…going someplace where me and Dean can't protect you…can't watch out for you."

"It's my choice," Sam said, his words firm but his voice shaky.

John nodded silently and sank into one of the chairs. He caught sight of Dean, his eldest son using the wall to keep himself on his feet. His bottom lip was split and trickling blood, there was a fresh cut on his cheekbone and his left eye promised to be pretty black in a few hours. He was looking at his father with a roiling mix of emotions displayed openly in his green eyes: anger, pain, disgust, fear. "Christ," John breathed. He put his head in his hands.

Dean looked up and caught Sam's eyes in confusion. Sam shrugged. "Uh…"Dean cleared his throat and tried again. "Dad? You…okay?"

Sam glared at his brother. How could Dean ask how his father was when, if the wall wasn't there to hold him up, Dean would be in a crumpled, painful heap on the floor.

"I'm so sorry boys," John whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Dean took a step away from the wall and towards the table, gritting his teeth in pain. Sam rushed over to help his brother to a chair next to John. Sam had tried to move him to the couch but Dean shook his head no. Sam sat in the third chair, fuming.

"Dean I'm so sorry," John said, looking up at his son.

"It's okay Dad"-

"It's _not _okay"- Sam was silenced with a glare from Dean.

"Dean I don't know what comes over me sometimes, I just see red," John murmured.

"I know, Dad, I know. But you can't hit Sammy, you promised me," Dean said softly.

"Dean, he can't hit you either," Sam exclaimed. How could his brother just _go along _with all of this crap?

"I'm sorry boys," John repeated. "I guess I just find myself at the bottom of a bottle too often to really see what I'm doing." He stood. "I'm…gonna go out, hustle some pool, alright? Maybe we can have dinner together tomorrow night. One that doesn't involve burgers."

Dean made to stand up as well but John put a hand on his shoulder. Dean forced himself not to flinch.

"You stay home son, Sam take care of your brother alright?"

"When don't I?" Sam replied angrily.

"Sam, shut up," Dean said softly.

John grabbed his jacket and left quietly, his head down.

"I literally cannot believe you, Dean," Sam said.

Dean wiped a trickle of blood off his mouth. "Why did you go showing him that?" He pointed to the college application. "You really think he was gonna take kindly to it? I told you we were both exhausted from last night as well. Pick your times better Sammy."

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"I'm peachy," Dean shot back. "Look, you should've at least told me about it first. Then I could help you break it to Dad but…"

"But what?"

"You're not really thinking of going to college are you?" Dean looked into his brother's eyes trying to determine what he was thinking.

"I don't know Dean…I…I'd kinda like to?" Sam looked up at his brother from underneath his mop of messy brown hair.

Dean nodded. Silence dropped over the pair until finally Dean said quietly, "Hey Sammy do you think you could grab something to uh…clean up all this…" He waved a hand in the direction of his bloody face.

"Sure Dean," Sam replied. A couple minutes later he returned with a damp towel and gently wiped off the blood from Dean's mouth and cheek. Both cuts had stopped bleeding finally and Sam grabbed two of the ice packs out of the freezer, one for Dean and one for himself.

The two sat in silence until Sam retrieved his now-cold burger from the forgotten bag of take out on the table. "You want yours?"

"Sure." The brothers ate in silence. Sam finished his burger in record time but Dean only ate half of his, his appetite had departed the first time his dad had sucker punched him in the stomach. Once they were done Sam helped Dean up to the second floor where their shared bedroom was. The two beds were lumpy and stiff but they'd do in a pinch.

Sam went to sleep thinking about how bad the fight was going to be when he told his father he _was going _to college, taking into account how bad the fight about considering it had been. Dean just lay in the dark, his face hurting, his stomach hurting, his ribs hurting, and his heart feeling like it was slowly being broken by his brother.

[Hope you like some more angst! Got way more from where this is coming from! Review!]


	5. It's A Terrible Life

**[Hey guys hope you're still enjoying! Plenty more where this came from, still in pre-series!]**

**It's A Terrible Life**

Dean knew from the moment he woke up that it wasn't going to be a good day. It was strange considering how well everything had been going up until this point. It was late August. Sam had just finished the twelfth grade a couple months ago and John had been pretty happy about it. Now he had _two _full time hunters helping him out on the job. But Dean was a pretty observant guy. He'd been watching Sam these last few weeks and he'd noticed a change in his brother. Gone were his fairly contented attitude. He'd hardly ever talk to Dean or John about the future, even when they asked him outright. And, the night before, Dean had seen him stuffing some papers in his bag. He'd asked his brother what they were but Sam had brushed him off.

They were staying in Sacramento, in a rundown motel on the outskirts of town, and had three jobs in town – all ghosts. The first two had gone down without a hitch. The third one was proving to be more problematic. It was haunting Sacramento General, an old hospital that was currently being torn down to make way for a new apartment block. A janitor, architect and a builder had all been suffocated to death without a mark on their body. They just couldn't figure out who it was.

"Got it!" Sam's shout broke Dean out of his reverie. He looked up from the obituaries in the newspaper to his brother, sitting at the library computer.

"Wanna share with the rest of the class, geek-boy?" Dean asked, but his tone was playful.

"It's a janitor. Carl Kenny. He worked there in the 30's. Absolutely loved the place. Looks like his family had actually built the hospital back in the day but had lost everything in the Crash in '29. So, to make sure the place stayed in good hands he took the job as a janitor. Until a mental patient suffocated him with a pillow in 1941."

"Sounds like our guy. Does it say where he's buried?"

"Yep, Peaceful Meadows Cemetery."

"Alright, let's get on it," Dean said, standing up and folding the newspaper. "You're getting pretty good at that you know."

"Well I'd hope so," Sam said. But his tone sounded strange.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, nothing," he replied hurriedly. He walked past Dean towards the door. "Well, come on, gotta dig up some bones."

That comment got a peculiar look from the librarian so the two brothers hotfooted it out of the library and back to the motel.

* * *

Midnight that night and the three Winchesters were standing around Carl Kenny's open grave. Dean pushed himself out and caught the bag of salt his father threw to him. He started pouring the salt when cold air rushed down his throat.

The ghost of Carl the janitor suddenly appeared next to him, his icy hands wrapped around Dean's throat. "You can't stop me, I have to stay," Carl said ominously.

"Sam, the salt!" Dean croaked as Carl's hands tightened. He couldn't get any air into his lungs.

Sam grabbed the salt and poured it over the bones, John did the same with the gasoline. Sam struck a match and dropped it and the ghost burned up. Dean fell to his knees coughing and Sam was instantly beside him.

"You okay Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine, nice timing Sammy."

Sam helped his brother up and the three of them watched the bones burn in silence.

* * *

Finally at 2 in the morning they turned tail for the motel. All three of them started packing duffel bags knowing that their stay in California was pretty much over.

"I just gotta call Bobby," John said. "I'll get some more ice while I'm out."

Dean and Sam just nodded, they were both exhausted and Dean still felt like icy tendrils were running down his throat. The feeling would pass by the next morning, but it was bugging him anyway. He grabbed the remote control for the old television in the room and turned it on to the football. Sam sat down in a chair and started to watch as well. But while Dean had collapsed in a relatively comfortable position against the lumpy motel pillows, Sam was tense and fidgety.

"You gonna tell me what's going through your head?" Dean asked after a couple minutes of tension-filled silence passed.

"Dean…uh…"

"Spit it out Sammy."

"I…I need to tell"-

Just then the door swung open and John returned, sans ice. "Okay boys, get moving. I just spoke with Bobby, he says he's got news for us about the demon. We're heading towards Sioux Falls tonight."

"Aw man," Dean groaned. "But it's like three in the morning, can't we at least have a couple hours sleep?"

"Sorry Dean, he says it's important," John replied using his 'end of story' tone.

"If Bobby said to jump off a bridge…" Dean grumbled under his breath as he switched the TV off and stood up. He grabbed his duffel and headed towards the door. "Sammy, you coming or what?"

"Uh…actually no."

Both Dean and John turned around. "What?" Dean asked, wondering if Sam had been joking.

"I'm not coming."

"What do you mean you're not coming?" John said walking back into the room and dropping his duffel bag on the floor. "You reckon there's another job here? There's not. We're going to South Dakota and that's final."

"I'm sorry Dad. I got accepted into Stanford. That's where I'm going," Sam said calmly.

Dean could only stare open-mouthed at his brother. Sam couldn't possibly be thinking of leaving the family business. And the family.

"What are you talking about Sam?" John asked, getting angrier and angrier. He turned to Dean who almost flinched under his father's furious eyes. "What is he talking about?"

"I…I don't know Dad."

"That college application you got so pissed about, well, I filled it out and I sent it in. And they accepted me," Sam explained.

"And how were you thinking of paying for it huh?"

"Well it's a half scholarship so I only have to pay for half of it. I'll get a job."

"You'll get a job," John laughed. "You'll get a job? What the hell are you thinking Sam? You _have _a job! You're a hunter!"

"Well…not anymore I guess." Sam picked up his backpack and his duffel bag.

"Where do you think you're going?" John asked bewildered at the sudden turn of events.

"I doubt you or Dean is going to drive me to Palo Alto. So I'll just hitch a ride," Sam said.

"Don't be stupid Sam, I'll drive you"-

Dean was cut off by a violent backhand that flung him against the wall and down to the floor.

"Shut your mouth Dean you'll do no such thing. Sam, don't you walk out that door, you're coming to Bobby's with me and your brother," John ordered.

"No, Dad, I'm not. I'm sorry this didn't work out but you're gonna have to go on without me," Sam said. He swallowed thickly. He was trying so hard not to let any tears slip out, he'd have plenty of time later. But he couldn't show any weakness in front of his father or he knew he'd never get to college. It was so hard though. He looked anywhere but the two faces in front of him. John was furious; Sam could tell it was taking every ounce of self-control John had to not go completely nuts at him. And every time he looked at Dean he had to tear his eyes away from the unbelievable hurt and guilt and betrayal that was openly showing in his brother's green eyes.

"I'm sorry Dean, I can't do it anymore."

"Sammy…" Dean's voice cracked as he looked up at his brother. "Please…"

"I can't," Sam whispered. He turned back towards the door.

"Sam if you go out that door, don't you ever come back," John snarled.

Sam paused but didn't look back. And then he left.

* * *

The two oldest Winchesters stayed frozen in place for a good fifteen minutes after Sam left. John finally broke the silence.

"I don't suppose we'll ever see you worthless brother then."

"Don't call him that," Dean said, his voice hollow. "He's not…worthless."

"Shut up if you know what's good for you," John said. He paced the small room, trying to decide what to do next. "He'll be back."

"I don't know…"

"I said, shut up!" John shouted. He stalked over to his son and grabbed him by the throat, pulling him to his feet. Dean choked and clawed at his father's hand trying to pry his iron-hard fingers off.

"Dad…please…"

"For once in your goddamn life, just shut up!" John punched Dean in the stomach and finally let him go. He fell to the floor gasping for breath, but he didn't say anything. "Get up. We're driving to Sioux Falls."

"But Dad, what about"-

John kicked him in the ribs with a grunt. "If you say 'Sam', god help me, I'll make you wish you never had a goddamn brother in the first place!" He kicked Dean in the ribs again sending him flying into the wall. John grabbed Dean's collar and pulled him forcefully to his feet. "I don't want to hear anything about your brother again. _Anything_. You hear me?"

"But"-

John fist hit Dean's face with such speed and power that Dean momentarily saw stars. "You hear me?"

"Yes sir."

[That was so hard to write! And sorry for the long delay, been insanely busy at work! But I promise I shall make time for this baby! Review!]


	6. Survival of the Fittest

**[Hey guys thanks for the awesome reviews! I'll probs do one more pre-series chapter and then focus on particular episodes throughout the seasons changing them slightly to fit and all that. Hope you're still digging it!]**

**Survival of the Fittest**

August 27th 2002. It had been a year since Sam had left for college. A whole year. And in that time Dean had spoken to his brother once. When a witch gone rogue had brought John and Dean to Salinas, California, Dean had called his brother without his father knowing. After all it was only an hour and a half drive to Stanford University. It had been a short call. After Sam made it clear that he would only see Dean if John wasn't around the two brothers didn't exactly become pen pals.

But maybe he'd get a chance now. They were staying in Worthington, Minnesota, when Bobby caught wind of spirits going crazy in Santa Rosa. It was a long drive but Dean was almost too excited to leave for the West Coast.

He stopped packing his duffel bag for a moment and looked up at his father, hunched over a laptop at the table in the small motel room they'd been sharing. It had been fairly strained between the two of them ever since Sam had left. The first couple of months Dean could barely do anything right and any mistake resulted in a beating that John made sure he didn't forget. If he'd been obedient before he was downright subservient now – his body could only take so much.

But recently John had started to realize that he'd only end up pushing his eldest son away if he kept hitting him. So he backed off. Instead of thrashing Dean to a bloody mess on the motel room floor, he'd stop himself after a couple punches. Then he progressed to only one or two backhanded slaps when he felt his son had stepped out of line. Finally he'd advanced to the point where all he'd do was grab Dean's collar or sink rock hard fingers into his shoulder, say a few words and be done with it.

The last time John had done either of those two things was over a month ago. So Dean thought he might try his luck.

"Hey dad, do you reckon I could say hi to Sam while we're there?"

John closed the lid of the laptop and turned to stare down his eldest son. "What?"

"I mean, Santa Rosa is only a couple hours' drive from Stanford, so I could just take a day after we finish the hunt of course and…uh….see how he's going? I mean it's been a year, maybe he's changed his mind…?" Dean stopped talking as he watched his father's eyes turn hard.

"No."

"But Dad, maybe he's changed"-

"I said no."

"Come on, he's my brother"-

"What part of 'no' don't you understand Dean?"

"He's your son for god's sakes"-

John stood up abruptly, his chair falling to the floor behind him with creak. "Goddamnit boy, you just can't keep quiet about it can you?" he asked, infuriated.

"I'm sorry, Dad it's just"-

John was in Dean's face in a split second, his fist hitting Dean's jaw a split second later and Dean fell to the floor, his green eyes wide in shock. It had been almost three months since his Dad had punched him square in the face like that.

"Just _nothing_ Dean, your brother left us! He left you!"

"No"-

Dean was cut off when John grabbed his collar and pulled him to his feet then slammed him against the wall, pushing the air forcefully from his lungs. Dean could feel the blood pounding in his ears and his heart felt like it was hammering through his chest. He was scared stiff. What if the last couple months had been a way of testing him? Seeing if he'd mess up? And then beating him to hell and back to make sure he'd never make the same mistake again?

"Dad, I'm sorry"-

John pushed his arm up against Dean's throat, making his choke on his words. "Stop saying you're goddamn sorry. All you ever do is mess up. Drive people away. Make 'em mad. Why do you think you're in this position now?"

"Dad…please…" Dean gasped. He couldn't breathe. His legs were weakening. Black spots appeared in his vision. "Please…"

John abruptly removed his arm and Dean fell to the floor in a heap, wheezing and gasping for breath.

"Change your mind about your brother then?" John asked, his voice softening. He turned away from his son and ran a hand over his face. He seemed ashamed he'd lashed out like that.

"I'm sorry Dad, forget I said anything," Dean said, his eyes downcast. He felt a trickle of blood run down his chin. His lip was split from that first punch John had thrown. He wiped away the blood with the back of his hand and was about to push himself to his feet when the knock at the door sounded.

Both Winchesters looked over at the motel room door. No one knew they were in Worthington except for Bobby and why would he bother driving here instead of calling? Dean, ignoring the sting of the growing bruise on his cheekbone and the rasping ache in his throat, got to his feet. He quickly pulled his gun and a flask of holy water out of his nearby duffel bag. He shoved the gun under his belt and unscrewed the cap of the flask. John did the same.

Unfortunately the motel room door had no peephole. But it was thin enough to shout through.

"Who's there?" John called, making sure his voice didn't betray the apprehension both of them felt.

"It's Carol! Carol Saunders!" replied a familiar female voice. "From the hotel! You helped me with that spirit last night! I need your help!"

John looked over to Dean to gauge his reaction. The previous night they'd salted and burned the spirit of Keira Cassidy, a ghost that had been plaguing Carol's hotel in town, ending the haunting and the deaths of guests. Keira's had been the only death in the hotel so it was an easy one. So why the hell was Carol back?

John put the flask on the table and opened the door. Carol came in hurriedly. She looked petrified.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing now," Carol smiled, her eyes turned black.

John lunged for the flask of holy water and Dean rushed forward but the demon pushed her arms out to the sides and flung the two of them against the wall with a dull thud.

"Well I have to say, this is nice. Really," the demon said. She walked casually up to John and pulled the gun out from his belt and threw it across the room. It landed near one of the beds with a metallic clatter. "It's great to see all your hard work result in something like this. Took me a while to find a scary old haunted hotel to entice you two. And quicker than I could say 'All work and no play' and you're in town, helping poor little Carol. She appreciates that by the way. Even if she is scared out of mind right now. Literally _out _of her mind," laughed the demon.

It walked up to Dean and ran it's fingers down his face, a seductive glint in its eye, pulling out his gun as well. "Mm, you are just tasty looking, you know that?"

"Get your hand off me," Dean growled, sicked by the thought.

The demon moved her fingers to his split lip, they came away bloody. "Looks like someone beat me to it though. Did Daddy do that to you?"

"Shut up," Dean replied.

"I'll take that as yes then."

"What the hell do you want with us?" John demanded. He tried to lift his hands off the wall but the demon was too powerful.

"Well, I was kinda hoping there'd be one more of you here. Where's little Sammy?"

"Not here," Dean replied quickly.

"Oh? Where then? Same state? East coast? West coast"-

"You'll never find him," Dean cut in.

"Ah. West coast then," the demon smiled. "Where on the West coast?"

"You really think we're gonna tell you?" John taunted. "God, you must be as stupid as the rest of 'em."

"No. I don't think _you're _going to tell me." The demon said to John. It looked back pointedly at Dean. "I think _he's _going to tell me."

"Guess again, you evil bitch," Dean replied, staring down the demon. It walked over to him menacingly until it was standing right in front of him. Then it dragged its finger over his chest. Hot pain followed the trail of its fingertip and Dean gritted his teeth. The cut was a good three inches long across his chest and seemed to sting far more than anything like that should.

"Seattle?"

"Go screw yourself," Dean replied angrily. The demon cut down his left arm making him gasp. The cuts weren't so deep that he'd bleed out but they were just so damn painful.

"He's not going to tell you," John said gruffly, although Dean wasn't sure if the statement was meant for the demon or him. "I'd give up now, save yourself some time."

"Sunny L.A.?"

"No dice, you ugly"-

Dean's words caught in his throat when the demon dragged its finger down the side of his face and along his neck. Four more guesses later and Dean was breathing heavily and almost out of snarky comebacks. Long cuts ran down his arms, over his chest and stomach and were steadily oozing blood. They stung agonizingly and it was all Dean could do to stay conscious, although his vision was slowly blurring and he was fairly sure the only thing keeping him upright was the demon's hold.

"I'm not very good at geography, but Reno?" Before Dean could even answer the demon brought its finger up to Dean face again.

"Stop! Stop, I'll tell you, alright, just let my son go!" John shouted. Dean had done well, he hadn't revealed any clues as to Sam's whereabouts but he was fading fast and John knew that if he didn't do anything soon, the demon was likely to kill his eldest.

"Sounds like a plan." The demon surveyed Dean, his head was slumped forward onto his chest and blood dripped from his face onto the floor. "I don't think you're going anywhere," the demon said to Dean and snapped it's fingers. Dean immediately fell to a bloody heap on the floor and the demon moved back to John. It opened its mouth to say something when suddenly it stopped. It flinched slightly and turned around to see Dean on his hands and knees reading a passage from John's journal. An exorcism. Its attention lapsed just enough for John to overpower its hold on him and grab it from behind.

"Keep going Dean! Faster!"

Dean strained to see the Latin words and pushed through the pain to get to the end. He was out cold before the black smoke had left the room. Carol collapsed in John's arms, unconscious. He quickly checked her pulse and her breathing. She was fine, just passed out. He moved her to one of the beds and ran to Dean. His pulse was weak but steady but his breathing was shallow. He grabbed his son and dragged him outside to the Impala. He'd left his big black truck at Bobby's place since they didn't really need two cars at the moment. John quickly settled Dean in the passenger side, ran back in for their bags and two minutes later they were on the way to Sioux Falls.

* * *

After flooring the huge Chevrolet down the Interstate, John arrived at Bobby's forty minutes later. He ran up to the front door and banged his fist on it. "Bobby! Bobby get down here! I need help! Bobby!"

John was just about to slam his knuckles on the door again when it opened to a bleary eyed Bobby Singer. "John, what the hell are you doing here at 3 in the goddamn morning?"

"It's Dean, he's hurt bad," John said, immediately racing back to the Impala and throwing open the passenger door and gently pulling his son out. Bobby joined him and the two of them got Dean inside and on the couch. It didn't escape John that the last time they'd been in this situation Dean had just been roughed up by another demon.

Bobby caught one look at the gashes over Dean's face and his upper body and looked at John, horrified. "What the hell did this? It looks like goddamn torture!"

"Torture is exactly what it is, damnit! Demon found us. Had lured us to Worthington in the first place. It was possessing the owner of a haunted hotel. Knew we'd come knocking sooner or later and just bided its time, waiting for us. Wanted to know where Sam was," John explained motioning to the wounds on Dean. The two of them carefully cut off Dean's shirt and t-shirt and John grabbed a flask from his back pocket.

"You really think this is the best time for that?" Bobby asked, pointing to his flask.

"Holy water. When it cut Dean, it did something to him. Cuts this shallow shouldn't have hurt him as much as they did," John replied. He poured holy water over the cut on his son's left arm and Dean flinched, his green eyes opening wide. White steam rose from the bloody wound on Dean's arm.

"Ah, Christ," Dean groaned, "what the hell are you doing?" He tried to move his arm away but John held it still.

"Cleaning your wounds, here, drink this," Bobby said, passing Dean a bottle of whiskey. John gave his friend a questioning look and Bobby shrugged. "Works for me."

* * *

Bright sunlight woke Dean up in the morning. He sighed unhappily as he realized he was now wide awake and still bone-tired. It had taken a good hour to make sure all of the cuts were properly cleaned of whatever the demon had inflicted on him. Then they had to be bandaged. Thankfully he smelt coffee. He gritted his teeth and sat up, wincing at the pull on the numerous bandaged slashes on his body. Dean grabbed a spare t-shirt and shirt out of his duffel bag and slowly, not wanting to reopen any cuts, put them on then dragged himself into the kitchen. Bobby looked up from the kitchen table.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I just went ten rounds with a barbed wire fence," Dean replied, grabbing a mug and filling it with steaming black coffee. He sat down at the table opposite Bobby. "They're not as painful any more though. That demon sure was creative." He took a sip of coffee. "Where's Dad?"

"Still sleeping," Bobby said. "How'd you get that?"

"What?"

Bobby reached across the table and gently poked the bruise on Dean's jaw. "The demon split your lip too?" Bobby caught sight of the growing bruises on Dean's throat – made by John seconds before the demon came knocking. "And choke you?"

Dean was caught off-guard. More often than not they'd show up at Bobby's at the tail-end of a hunt, a little worse for wear so he never really asked. But then Dean almost never got the chance to sit with Bobby alone without John. "Uh…the…the demon, yeah."

"You wanna try a more convincing tone?" Bobby asked in his no nonsense voice. "Who did that to you?"

"It was a…a spirit that we were hunting in Worthington, the one at the hotel that you told us about," Dean lied quickly.

"Right. The one that left its victims drowned with _not a scratch on them_. Try again." Silence settled over the kitchen table. "Was it John?" Dean nodded, refusing to meet Bobby's eyes. "Does he do this often?" Dean paused, considering then shook his head no. "Did he use to do it often?" Dean nodded. "Did he ever hit Sam?"

"No," Dean replied, finally looking up to the older hunter in the trucker cap. "I made sure of it."

"Yeah pretty sure that's why you always looked extra banged up when you boys got here." Bobby stood up.

"Don't say anything to him, Bobby," Dean said worriedly.

"What the hell? Of course I'm gonna say something to him, don't be an idjit."

"Please Bobby, don't. He's gotten better."

"He should never have hit you in the first place," Bobby replied gruffly. "That ain't how you raise kids."

"And what would you know about that Bobby?" Dean spun around to see his father standing in the doorway watching them.

"It's nothing, don't worry," Dean said softly.

"Doesn't sound like nothing," John said, never once taking his eyes off of Bobby.

"That's cause it sure as hell _ain't nothing_," Bobby replied, glowering at John.

Dean suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable, sitting between the two older men. He stood up to leave.

"Why don't you tell your father what you told me, huh, Dean?" Bobby suggested, his voice softening a little when he spoke to the 23 year-old.

"Nah, that's alright, it wasn't important," Dean replied, his eyes on the kitchen floor.

"That's a good idea, son," John said. "Now why don't you grab your things and meet me outside. You're fine to drive right?"

Dean nodded and quickly extricated himself from the kitchen, grabbed his duffel bag and went outside. Even sitting in the Impala he could still hear the shouts thrown between the two older men in the house. He figured they probably wouldn't be coming back to South Dakota anytime soon.

[Hope you liked it. If you did, review and tell me! If you didn't, review and tell me!]


	7. The Kids Are Alright

**[Sorry about the big wait! Had to work lots, but here it is. Not all that much action, but I thought I'd tackle the four years/two years discrepancy haha!]**

**The Kid's Are Alright**

One year later and John still hadn't spoken to Bobby. Of course Bobby had promised to aim his shotgun square at John's chest if he showed up on Bobby's doorstep again. It wasn't good. It was one less safe-house for John and Dean. One less person they could trust. One less person who could help them.

Yet they kept going. Kept trawling the country for cases. A witch in St Louis, spirits in Memphis, demonic omens in Kansas City, Omaha and Louisville. But John came no closer to finding the yellow-eyed demon that had killed Mary. And it was getting to him. If the first year without Sam saw John get less violent towards Dean, the second year was the complete opposite. It started up slowly again, but it escalated nonetheless and soon Dean was starting to wonder whether he'd survive if he kept on going with his father.

"Okay, found something," Dean said, leaning back in the rickety metal motel room chair. He'd been going through obits online trying desperately to find a case. They'd been stranded without one for far too long and John was getting restless. Which meant more trips to the bar and less patience with his son.

"What is it?" John said. He got up and walked over to Dean and stood behind him almost making Dean shiver.

"Well two things actually," Dean replied. He clicked open an article and then a second one. "Crop failure and electrical storms in Napa and a house in San Fran filled with spirits."

"Let me look," John said, roughly grabbing Dean's shoulder and pulling him from the chair. Dean didn't make a fuss just moved away so his father could sit down. He sat down on his bed and started to field-strip his gun so he could clean it.

"Finally," John grumbled. "We got a case. We'll leave in the morning." John grabbed the motel room keys.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked. John spun around.

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy," he snapped.

"Sorry…sir. I just was curious is all," Dean replied softly.

"Out is where I'm going. Stay here."

The door slammed shut making Dean flinch. Once he heard his father start the engine in his truck and drive down the road he pulled his phone out. He silently debated whether or not he should call Sam. Finally he pressed 'call'.

The phone rang out and Sam's familiar voice told him to leave a message. "Hey Sammy, it's uh…it's me…listen…me and Dad are coming out your way soon…there's a case in San Fran and one in Napa, so if…I get a free moment away from Dad, I'll come find you alright…say hi…we're in Spokane at the moment so…we should be there in two"-

The phone beeped when the time ran out and Dean sighed. "Days," he finished.

* * *

Sam unlocked the front door of the apartment he shared with his girlfriend Jessica Moore and dropped the keys in the bowl on the side table. They'd moved in together a month ago and Sam was loving every minute of it. He turned on the living room light and dumped his satchel on the coffee table. He pulled out one of his textbooks when he heard his phone ring. He hurriedly tried to dig through his bag to find it and when he finally got his hands on it, it went to answer phone.

"Damnit," he muttered. Then he looked at the caller I.D. and frowned. He listened to the voice mail and his frown grew deeper with each passing second. He exhaled the breath he'd been holding when Dean's voice cut out. "Damnit," he repeated. "Two days or two weeks?" Sam sighed. "God I don't even want Dad here in the first place," he said under his breath.

"Baby? Is that you?"

"Yeah it's me," Sam called back. "Did I wake you?"

"No it's okay. Just trying to get an early night, got that flight to Dallas/Fort Worth in the morning," Jess replied.

Sam turned off the light in the living room and went into the bedroom. "That's right. How long are you going to be away again?"

"Three weeks," Jess replied, a sad look on her face.

"How am I going to survive?" Sam said, laying back on the bed.

"That's exactly what I'm wondering," Jess laughed.

Sam laughed as well, but inside he was sincerely hoping that Dean didn't come looking for him.

* * *

Two days later and John's truck and Dean's Impala cruised into the Red Heart Motel in Oakland, an easy drive to both the demonic omens in Napa and the spirits in San Francisco. Once John had them booked in they started research. John took the truck to Napa, told Dean he would be a couple days at most.

Meanwhile, Dean met the owners of the house in South San Francisco. The elderly couple explained that they'd started renovations a month ago and all of a sudden, pots and pans were banging in the middle of the night, cupboard doors would fly open, lights would go on and off and woman dressed in a long black dress had been seen.

It didn't take long for Dean to figure out it was the ghost of Marie O'Connell, the original owner of the house. He tracked down her gravesite to the Eternal Rest Cemetery and waited for nightfall. Then he dug up her coffin and salted and burned her bones. Afterwards, he went back to the house and told the older couple he would be staying in town for the rest of the week and if anything happened to call him.

Then he jumped in the Impala and drove south. Towards Palo Alto.

He found Sam having a quiet beer in a sleepy bar near the University. He would always recognize his brother's tall, lanky frame but he seemed to have let his hair go a little long.

"Hey Sammy."

Sam turned around and almost did a double-take. "Uh, Dean…how did you know I'd be here?"

"Give me some credit here," Dean said, taking a seat on the barstool next to his brother. "It was pretty easy. I found your apartment cause you're listed in the telephone book and then I asked your neighbour where you might be."

"Goddamn Joey, can't keep his mouth shut," Sam replied with only a hint of humour.

"The damn phonebook Sam?" Dean repeated. His voice was steady. "I had to find you in the phonebook cause you couldn't even pick up the phone. I haven't seen you in two years. _Two years_. And I've only bothered you once on the phone in all that time." Dean finally caught the attention of the bartender and ordered a cold one.

"Dean, where's Dad?"

"Not here, okay?" Dean sighed exasperatedly. For sure he'd bring their father here.

"Where?"

"Napa. Demonic omens. There was a haunting in South San Fran, so I told him I'd look at that if he wanted to go to Napa. So that's where he is alright? Now, can I please just catch up with you? How's college?"

"It's…fine. Dean, how are you?"

"Hey, I get to ask the questions," Dean replied playfully as his beer was set down in front of him. "Got a girlfriend? Your neighbour mentioned a 'Jess'?"

"Yeah, me and Jess have been together for almost a year now. We moved in together about a month ago."

"Hey, man, that's great! Is she smokin'?" Dean asked, jabbing his brother in the ribs.

"I think so," Sam laughed. This felt good. They were falling back into their old ways together. Like brothers should.

"Hey, is the food good here?" Dean asked. "I could definitely go a burger."

Sam nodded and Dean ordered two burgers, one without fries and the other with extra onions.

"So, Dean, how are you?" Sam asked, suddenly getting all serious.

"I'm fine, Sammy, you know me, give me a burger, a cold beer, a blonde and something that goes bump in the night and I'm just peachy," Dean replied with his trademark grin.

"Come on, seriously. How's Dad?"

"Dad's…driven," Dean replied, his smile fading. "He wants to find that demon more than ever. He got a bit antsy last couple of weeks cause there was a drought in cases."

"And by antsy you mean…?"

"Just a bit frustrated you know," Dean replied, trying to skirt the issue.

"And by frustrated you mean he takes his anger out on you?"

Dean looked up at Sam sharply and then, realising he'd given himself away he sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"So he hasn't stopped then?"

Dean shook his head no. He went to change the subject but Sam spoke again.

"Did you ever get a chance to speak with Bobby about it?"

Dean stifled a short, humourless laugh. "Yeah, actually I did."

Sam leaned forward. "And?"

"And that was the last time we went to Bobby's," Dean replied calmly. "Look can we just talk about other things please? I'm alive, I'm okay, Dad's not here. Let's just talk. Tell me about this girl of yours?"

Sam paused studying his brother's face. Finally he answered. They spoke for another two hours until Dean got a text from John saying he was on his back, the omens in Napa were a bust. The two brothers walked outside into the bright California sunshine and Sam smiled when he saw the Impala.

"Huh, thought you would've wrecked it by now. What with your driving," Sam said.

"What? I would never hurt my baby!" Dean replied, stroking the front fender. He turned back to his brother. "Hey, it was good to see you, stay out of trouble alright?"

"Yeah, you too. Stay safe," Sam said, but he wasn't talking about the ghosts and monsters that Dean and John hunted. "If you ever really need me, you can come round. But only if you _really _need me okay?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Guess you like it here huh?"

"Sure do. But just, if you want, you can, you know, call sometime."

"Sure thing Sammy."

Dean opened the Impala's driver's side door with a creak and climbed in. He turned the key in the ignition and watched his brother shrink smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. Once he got on the highway though, he gunned the engine. Didn't want to be late for his father.

**[Hope you like it! Review if you did! Any suggestions/criticism is always welcome]**


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